Silent Honor (20 page)

“I don't know what to think anymore. I think anything is possible. This whole country's going crazy, about the Japanese anyway. And in some ways, I can't blame them. We're at war with Japan, they have every reason to be suspicious of aliens. What I can't understand though is how they can pretend that American-born citizens are suddenly aliens. That's what's crazy.” And all the Japanese boys who had volunteered had either wound up in kitchens or been sent home. None of them were being assigned to fighting units. The country had an immeasurable distrust for the loyalty of the nisei, and for the moment, nothing could persuade them to see anything differently. “I wish I had the answers. I guess if I really thought they'd evacuate us, I'd be packing my bags for New Hampshire. But I keep thinking it's all going to settle down, we'll all get our jobs back”—he smiled at his young friend without malice—”and they'll say they're sorry. But there's a part of me that knows I'm being stupid.”

“I don't think you're stupid. It makes sense. The other stuff certainly doesn't,” Peter answered, and all he could think about now was Hiroko. He wanted to marry her, to shield her from all this, from the fear and the prejudice and the uncertainty. But even just taking her out to dinner, or a movie, he couldn't protect her. There was always the fear that someone would come up to them, and spit at her, or say something, or shout an obscenity at her. It had happened to them, and to others. It had happened to her at the grocery store just that week, and Tak had told her to patronize only nisei stores, so she wouldn't have a problem. When Peter heard, he told her how worried he was about leaving her when he joined the army. And this time he brought up the subject of marriage, but for her it was impossible until she was in contact with her family again, and even then, they might not agree to it. But the thought of her marrying anyone else almost killed him. He hated the thought of leaving her, of not seeing her face, or her shining black hair, or her lithe, graceful movements, She always seemed to flit around him like a hummingbird, bringing him things, making him tea, smiling at him, telling him a funny story about Tami. She loved the little girl, and children generally, and more and more Peter found himself dreaming of having a life with her, and having her bear his children. He wanted to be with her, for eternity, and no executive order could change that.

Hiroko was so brave about what was happening. She was always quiet, and strong, and peaceful. She never showed her pain, and always tried to reassure Peter, and the others.

Tak was sorry for Peter and Hiroko, whenever he looked at them. He thought it was going to be a long, hard road to their future.

But the following week, they had bad news from Reiko's family. Her cousins in Fresno had been sent to Terminal Island, then within two weeks they had been given notice again, and sent to an assembly center in Los Angeles. When they left Fresno, they had been given three days to sell their things, and they had lost everything. They'd sold their house for a hundred dollars, walked away from their car, and their huge crop of Mother's Day flowers had had to be abandoned.

“But that's impossible,” Reiko said, in tears, reading Tak their letter. “Three days? How could they do that?” They'd been evacuated with hundreds of others, and were being held at a fairground. The news had an unreal quality, and none of them had absorbed what it meant when, three weeks to the day, an exclusion order was posted for their area in Palo Alto. They had ten days to sell their houses, their businesses, their cars, store their minor belongings, and evacuate. A “responsible member” of the family had to come to the Civil Control Station nearest them, which in their ease happened to be an old Buddhist temple, to get further instructions. But they knew nothing more for the moment.

Takeo heard of it that day at the university, and he saw several of the posters on the way home. He stopped to read one carefully, feeling his heart pound mercilessly, and the next morning it was all spelled out in the papers.

Peter had come to the house to offer them his help, and he and Tak went to the Civil Control Station together. He tried to find out what was going on, but they wouldn't tell him any more than they would tell Takeo. In ten days from the order, nine days now, the entire family had to report to the assembly center at Tanforan Racetrack in San Bruno. Each adult could bring a hundred and fifty pounds of belongings with them, including bedding, toiletries, and clothes for any climate. Children were allowed seventy-five pounds each. But every single person must be able to carry their own belongings, which made the weight allowances ridiculous. A fifty-pound child couldn't carry seventy-five pounds of boxes or valises, nor could Reiko or Hiroko, or even Ken, carry a hundred and fifty pounds. So in effect, the weight allowances meant nothing.

Takeo was given tags for each of them, and asked if there was anyone elderly or infirm in his family, in which case he would have been given, special tags, which were larger. He was numb as he listened to them, and stared at the tags in his hand once he had them. There were twenty tags for each person and each suitcase. And their number was 70917. They no longer had a name, just a number. He was told that pets of any kind could not come along, not even small ones. And that they must not bring money, jewelry, cameras, radios, weapons, or any object made of metal. And the United States government was offering to store larger household items like refrigerators and washing machines, heavy furniture, or pianos, in warehouses provided for them, but at their own risk, should anything get damaged.

He couldn't even think as he left the line, holding the tags with their number, and he and Peter left the small temple feeling dazed. They had been forbidden to leave the area. It was too late to flee now.

They had nine days to report to Tanforan, nine days to sell everything. And he had been told that they were going there to be relocated, but no one seemed to know to where, or was willing to tell them. He couldn't even tell Reiko what kind of clothes to bring, for cool or warm weather. He knew nothing. He wasn't even entirely sure they would all be together, or if they would be safe wherever they were sent. The thought of that made him tremble.

There were whispers in the line that the men would be executed, that they would all be shot, that the children would be sold as slaves, and husbands and wives would be sent to separate places. It all sounded like rumor to him, but in fact there was no way of knowing. He could promise Reiko nothing. But the man who had given him the tags had asked if they were all immediate family, or extended, and Takeo had said that one of the tags was for their cousin. He did not say that she was full Japanese, and only here as a student, but they would find out eventually, when they saw her passport. The man's only response was that there was no guarantee they would be relocated together. He realized then that he was still an alien too, and there was always the possibility that his fate would be different than his wife's, or that perhaps he would go to prison.

Peter looked deeply concerned as they drove home and he questioned Takeo. “Did he say she might not be relocated with you?” Takeo nodded in silence, as Peter tried not to panic. “You can't let that happen, Tak. You can't leave her by herself. God only knows what will happen to her.” His voice was raised and he was staring at his friend, as the abominable tags lay on the seat between them, and Tak turned to him with tears in his eyes as they stopped at a light.

“Do you think I can change any of it? Do you think I want any of us to go at all, together or separately? What exactly do you think I can do here?” The tears rolled down his cheeks, and Peter touched his arm, appalled at everything that had happened.

“I'm sorry,” he said, with tears in his own eyes, and the two men rode back to the house in silence, wondering what they would say to the women. Peter only wished he could go with them. He had been told at the control station that he could assist them when they went to the assembly center at Tanforan, and he could visit them, but he couldn't stay there, and he would have to leave his car a good distance from Tanforan, and bring no contraband with him.

But he was completely panicked at the idea of leaving Hiroko there. It was like taking her to prison. And if she was separated from her cousins, she would have no protection whatsoever. He couldn't even begin to imagine what might happen.

Takeo stopped the car outside the house, sighed audibly, and glanced at Peter. He knew they were waiting for him, but he couldn't bear the thought of telling them what their fate was. Their worst nightmares had come true, and he realized now that he should have left months before, and gone anywhere. It would have been no worse than what had just happened. And now they were forbidden to leave the area, until they reported to the assembly center at Tanforan for relocation.

There were mysterious little words involved, like
assembly center
, and
relocation
, and
alien
, all of which meant other things than what they were meant to. They were ordinary words in which monsters hid, ready to devour them.

“What are you going to say to them, Tak?” Peter asked, looking anguished for him as they both blew their noses. It was as though someone had just died, their lives, his career, their future.

“I have no idea what to say to thern,” Tak said grimly. Then he looked at Peter with a pained smile. “Want to buy a house, or a car?” He had no idea where to begin, there was so much to give up, put away, and get rid of.

“I'll do everything I can, Tak. You know that.”

“I'm serious about the house or the car.” He had heard of other people who had sold hotels for a hundred dollars, cars for fifteen. You couldn't take it with you, or hang on to it, and he couldn't see himself storing things like their washing machine for God only knew how many years in a federal warehouse. He was going to sell everything he could, and give away what he had to. “I guess we'd better go in,” he said, wishing he didn't have to, wishing he didn't have to see their faces when he told them, especially Reiko's. The kids would be horrified, but they were young, they'd survive anything as long as their lives and their safety weren't jeopardized. But things weren't all that important. He and Reiko had spent nineteen years building everything, and now they had nine days to tear it all apart, and leave it on the junk heap.

Peter put his arm around his shoulders as they walked inside, and the two men almost cried when they saw Reiko and Hiroko. Hiroko was not yet nineteen, but she looked quiet and dignified in a black skirt and sweater as she stood next to her cousin. Her eyes met Peter's immediately, and it took every ounce of courage he had not to turn away from the questions he saw there. Takeo went straight to his wife, took her in his arms and held her, and without hearing anything, she started to cry. The tags were still concealed in his pocket.

“Do we really have to go, Tak?” she asked, hoping that he had been able to talk them out of it, by some miracle or quirk of fate. She wanted someone to tell them that it was all a mistake and they could stay at home in Palo Alto.

“Yes, sweetheart. We do. We have to go to the Tanforan Assembly Center for relocation.”

“When?”

“In nine days,” he said, feeling a weight crush his chest, but he stood firm as he told her. “We have to sell the house, and whatever else we can. We can store the rest in government warehouses, if we want to.” She couldn't believe what she was hearing. He took the tags out of his pocket then, and she started to cry again, as Hiroko stood wide-eyed, and watched them. She hadn't made a sound, and her eyes went to Peter's, filled with terror.

“Will I go with you, Takeo-san?” she asked, reverting to the old ways. It didn't matter now, no one could hear them.

“Yes,” he lied. He wasn't sure, but it was too soon to tell her. He didn't want to frighten her any more than he had to.

The children joined them then and he told them everything, or all that he knew anyway, and everyone cried, even Peter. It was a terrible morning, and Tami sobbed horribly when she heard they couldn't bring Lassie, their Shiba.

“What'll we do with her?” she cried. “They won't kill her, will they?”

“Of course not.” Takeo gently touched her hair, feeling the acute ache of not being able to protect his youngest child, or any of them, from what had happened. But there were no miracles for them now. Only sorrow. “We'll give Lassie to friends, people we know will be good to her,” he tried to reassure her.

“What about Peter?” She looked at him hopefully, maybe he'd give her back one day, but Peter gently took her little hand in his and kissed it.

“I'm going away soon too. I'm going into the army.”

And then Tami turned to Hiroko with fresh terror. “What about my dollhouse?”

‘We'll pack it very carefully,” Hiroko promised, “and take it with us.” But Takeo shook his head again.

“We can't. We can only take what we can carry.”

“Can I take my doll?” Tami asked desperately, and this time he nodded.

The two younger girls were both crying when they left the room, and Ken was wiping his eyes, but he sat looking stern and stubborn as he listened, and then finally his father glanced at him, aware that there was a growing problem.

“What's the matter, Ken?” It was an odd question to ask, but the boy looked as though he were going to explode at any moment.

“This country, if you want to know what I think, that's what's the matter. You may not be a citizen, Dad, but I am. I was born here. I could get drafted next year. I could die for them, but in the meantime, they're going to ship me off someplace because of my Japanese ancestors, ‘in whatever degree.’” That was the criterion they were using. Japanese ancestry, in any degree. And citizenship or country of origin meant nothing. All his life he had pledged his allegiance to the flag, and sung “The Star-Spangled Banner”; he'd been a Boy Scout and had a paper route and eaten corn on the cob and apple pie on the Fourth of July, and now he was an “alien” and he had to be evacuated like a criminal or a spy. It was the worst tiling that had ever happened to him. And as he listened to them, all of his ideals and beliefs and values were being shattered.